Leap Of Faith
by Mistress Martin
Summary: At some point in everyone's life they have to take a leap of faith. Neal/OFC
1. Chapter 1

_**~Far away and left behind~**_

"It's done," the gruff voice muttered into the phone.

"Are you sure?" came the cool, crisp retort.

"Yeah, he's dead." _Or soon would be_. "Dumped the body along the coast on some country road."

"Good. You can expect a deposit to your account first thing in the morning." The line clicked and was silent.

Kyra Montgomery climbed the stone steps leading up to the road that would take her to the villa she had purchased just two months prior. She reached into the basket for her sweater, it was late spring and evenings on the coast tended to be chilly-even without the light breeze that was blowing errant strands of red hair around her face. Sighing she let her gaze wander, on one side, the steep granite cliffs gave way to the spectacular hues of the Adriatic below. On the other side, soft green fields stretched out in front of her, masses of wildflowers in riotous colors dotted the landscape and mixed in with groves of leafy green trees. As she walked down the narrow lane, she debated with herself over which pleased her the most, and vowed to never to take the breathtaking views for granted.

She was at her front door before she knew it. Hurrying inside she was intent on being settled on the patio with a glass of wine in time to bask in the glory of the sun setting over the Adriatic.

Sitting the shopping basket on the marble top of the island separating the kitchen from the living room, she unloaded her purchases; bread, cheese, and wine from the basket. She retrieved a small plate and knife along with a glass from the open cabinets along the wall. The realization of how much she loved this place struck her as she prepared a light snack for herself. The Italian coast was the perfect place to relax and decide what she truly wanted to do with her life. She'd spent two months holed up in her penthouse apartment mourning the loss of her beloved father before setting off at his behest to create herself. Tiny tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she remembered the reading of his will. Sometimes when she closed her eyes she could hear his voice reciting the advice he'd left for her.

So here she was, doing what she wanted instead of what everyone else thought she should. She arranged chunks of bread and cheese on the plate alongside a divine garlic and olive oil sauce, then poured herself a glass of wine. Picking them up she headed out the door to the ivy covered patio. She frowned as she passed the half finished water color resting on an easel, she told herself she would work on it after dinner.

Settling into the oversize chair, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up under her. Dusk was just beginning to fall as she took her first sip of wine. Absently she noted a bird singing somewhere close, and the rustle of some animal moving through the underbrush in grove of trees to her right. The rustling increased, she heard a twig snap and sighed at the absolute tranquility surrounding her. She turned to reach for the small plate and nearly screamed at the sight that met her eyes. A man was slouched against the stone archway leading onto the patio.

"Help me...please..." The words rasped from his lips a fraction of a second before he crumpled to his knees.

Kyra's eyes darted over his disheveled face and clothing, coming to rest on the dark stain blossoming across the front of his shirt. "Shit!"

She leapt to her feet and instinct kicked in as she moved to kneel in front of him, she could smell the blood and gunpowder as she reached for his arm. "You've been shot," she stated the obvious. "Let's get you inside, can you walk?"

He started to nod, but the shooting pain behind his eyes cut the movement short. She maneuvered his arm over her shoulder and helped him back to his feet. It took several minutes with her supporting the bulk of his weight, to make it inside the villa. She eased his lanky frame onto the sofa. It didn't occur to her to be afraid; she was running on instinct and adrenaline. The grunts and moans of pain barely registered as she stripped the ruined shirt from his chest.

"You need a hospital!" she exclaimed, seeing the bullet hole on the right side of his chest still oozing dark, sticky blood. She felt his fingers curl around her wrist.

"No!" The word hissed past clenched teeth.

The fear began to creep up her spine then. "Okay...what...what do you want me to do?"

"You...help me," he muttered opening his eyes. The intense blue orbs were glazed with pain and the lines of his patrician features were etched with fear.

"Okay, I'm going to get a few things. I'll be right back."

She raced to the bathroom and wet several wash clothes. She grabbed the extensive first aid kit as well as a couple of bottles from the shelf. She hurried back to his side, telling herself that he couldn't possibly be some criminal. Criminals didn't wear Versace and Armani.

She knelt in front of him. "I'm Kyra. What's your name?" she asked, trying to distract him as she began to gently clean the blood from his chest. He didn't answer her, and when she looked up she noted that his eyes were shut and his face was slack. "Fuck!" She reached for his hand, sliding her fingers to his wrist. She felt for a pulse, and when she found it she noted that although a bit irregular it was strong.

She slid a hand behind him and eased his body forward, praying that she would find the corresponding exit wound. She sighed with relief when she located the larger wound on his back.

_'Please don't let him die,' _she prayed. She had no idea how she would explain a dead American to the Polizia di Stato. He needed stitches and antibiotics and as she got to her feet she said a silent prayer of thanks to her father.

She moved to the hall closet and retrieved one of the few items she'd brought to Italy with her from America. The medical bag with her father's name on a brass plaque had been a gift from his own father when he'd graduated from medical school. He'd told her how he'd scoffed at the old fashioned gift at first, but over the years it had came in handy more than once and he'd kept it stocked with all manner of supplies. She'd taken it on a whim; now she was thankful she had.

She moved back to the young man's side, sitting the bag on the low coffee table, opening it she pulled out disinfectant, a local anesthetic, a needle, and suture thread. As much as she'd hated being a nurse, she was glad her father had taught her a few things.

She concentrated on the task at hand- filling four syringes with the anesthetic. "This is gonna sting and burn. I need you to hold still. You are going to need numerous stitches," she told him calmly.

He opened his eyes, searching her face. Though for what, she wasn't quite sure. "I know what I'm doing. I promise."

He nodded almost imperceptibly and closed his eyes once again.

After scrubbing his chest with betadine she injected the antiseptic in several location surrounding the entrance wound. The smaller wound would be the easiest to suture so she started there. When she finished she told him to lay face down on the couch. Then she began to clean the larger, more jagged wound on his back. As she did she tried her best not to speculate on what he might have done to get himself shot. He didn't make a sound as she went to work suturing the wound, and she wondered if he'd passed out from the pain and blood loss or if he was just that strong willed.

She leaned back when she finished, running a hand across her face. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue to take care of the situation. She reached out, touching his shoulder gently. "Okay, we need to get some antibiotics and pain medicine in you, then I want to get you comfortable in bed."

He struggled to sit up and she reached out to help him. "So are you going to at least tell me your name?" she asked as she stood.

"I would...if I knew myself."

Her face showed the surprise and concern. "You can't remember anything at all?" she asked sitting next to him, her hands going to his head. Gently she felt for any tell tale signs of a head injury.

"Nothing," he whispered. She watched his face and saw him wince when her fingers grazed the large knot behind his left ear.

"Okay...that's a nasty bump but your memory will most likely return on its own. Do you have any ID on you?" she asked.

His hand immediately went to his pocket. "No wallet...just this." He pulled out a scrap of yellow paper, she noticed it was torn along one edge as he held it out to her, she took the paper from his trembling fingers

Kyra looked down at it, "Neal, call El," she read it out loud. "Okay, that's probably you. Neal. It looks like it's from some sort of message pad, like a sticky note."

"Neal," he said the name out loud. What should have been the most familiar thing about him, seemed strange and foreign on his lips.

"Let me get you a drink, then we'll get you cleaned up and in bed. You are going to need to rest."

He shifted on the couch to watch her as she made her way to the kitchen, the pain shooting though his shoulder. He swallowed the whimper as he took in the red hair cascading over her shoulders, which were left bare by the lacy camisole gracing her ample cleavage. The rounded curve of her hips was hidden by the flowing white skirt. She turned back to him and a soft smile played at her full lips. His eyes never left her as she walked back over to him.

She sat down next to him again and her vibrant turquoise eyes met his. She offered him the glass and he took it gratefully. When she reached for the prescription bottles on the table though, he caught her hand in his. "No drugs."

"You have to at least have the antibiotics," she murmured as her skin tingled under his touch.

"Just the antibiotic," he agreed and let her go.

He took a swig of the ice cold water as she opened the bottle and handed him a pill. He swallowed it, along with the remainder of the water.

"Okay, let me just finish cleaning the blood up and we will get you tucked in."

Her hands were soft and gentle as she cleaned the blood from his arm and then moved to his face.

Dabbing gently at the cuts and abrasions, she noticed for the first time just how handsome he was. A slight five o'clock shadow graced the strong jaw and accentuated the full, utterly kissable lips. She was willing to bet his smile was devastating. Her eyes flicked down to his chest and abdomen. Not overly muscular, just enough to tell that he cared about his body and took care of it. If they'd met under normal circumstances she probably would have flirted with him.

But these were not normal circumstances, and this wasn't a cocktail party in some swanky New York club. She had no idea who this man was, or what he had done. But for some reason she wasn't worried about anything other than his welfare at that moment. They'd figure the rest out later. "Okay, let's get you into bed."

"Shouldn't that be my line?" he said with a half hearted smirk.

She chuckled. "I don't think you are up to it quite yet." She stood and offered him her hand.

He took it and felt the spark dance across the palm of his hand. He watched her face, but if she felt it, she was effectively shielding it.

She lead him to her room, letting go of his hand to turn down the soft, fluffy comforter and sheets. When she turned, he'd toed off his shoes and was in the process of pulling the socks from his feet. "Are you wearing anything underneath those?" She gestured at the tailored Armani pants.

He gave her a lopsided grin "I'm not sure..."

"Well, check and if you are take them off too. They are muddy."

He did as she asked, and when she saw his hands go to the buckle of his belt she couldn't make herself look away. He undid them and let the trousers fall to the floor, revealing a pair of gray boxer briefs hugging his hips. His long legs were well developed and just as tan as the rest of his body. '_Good God_ ,' she thought to herself. He was as breathtaking as the scenery around here.

She shook her head at her thoughts, and cleared her throat. "Okay, in bed. I'll check on you in a couple of hours. If you need anything just call for me."

He followed her instructions, and as she pulled the comforter up over him he caught her hand. "Kyra...thank you," he murmured.

"You're welcome Neal."

She flipped the light off as she exited the room, leaving the door open so she could hear him if he called out to her.

She went straight to the kitchen and poured another glass of wine, downing it in one long drink. When she sat the empty glass back on the counter, her hands were trembling. Her mind tumbled with questions, scenarios about how he had ended up wounded and bleeding to death on a lonely road along the Italian coast.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind as she tried to focus on what to do next. He'd need food, along with the rest and antibiotics, so she set about making a simple meal. Soup and bread would be easy enough on his system, she decided. She tried not to think as she chopped vegetables and browned meat in a skillet.

As she moved around the kitchen she wondered if he had family or friends. Maybe even a wife and kids who were missing him. She hadn't seen a ring, or the telltale lack of tan on his ring finger, so she doubted that he was married but it wasn't irrefutable proof.

Once the soup was simmering on the stove, she found herself drawn back to her room. Standing in the doorway she watched him as he slept, virtually motionless in her bed. The steady rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he was still alive and she vowed to do her damndest to keep him that way. They were a long way from proper medical care, but she'd do the best she could. She knew going to a hospital wasn't an option; that whoever had shot him might come back to finish the job if they found out their first attempt had failed. The fact that they'd dumped him along this out of the way road told her it hadn't been accidental.

Once the meal was ready, she put everything on a tray and returned to her room. "Neal," she called his name but he didn't stir. She sat the tray on the bedside table and reached for his shoulder, shaking it gently. "Neal, you need to eat."

He woke, groggy and disoriented. He felt the pain shoot trough his shoulder and chest as he struggled to sit up.

"Let me help you," she said softly.

He looked up at her as he settled against the headboard, propped on the pillows. "Kyra." It scared him to think that the only thing familiar to him was a woman he had just met.

She placed the tray over his lap. "Soup and juice."

He looked down at it and felt his stomach roll. "Not sure I can..."

"At least a little bit. You need nutrition to help the wounds heal and regain your strength."

He started to nod but thought better of it as his head throbbed. He reached for the spoon and the searing pain made him drop it.

"Hurt that much?" she asked.

"Yeah, it does," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes.

"Let me help you." She sat facing him and picked up the spoon.

"I wish you would take something for the pain, no need to be a tough guy. It's just me and you here," she said as she fed him.

"No." He reiterated his earlier answer. He couldn't afford to be drugged right now.

She sighed. "Drink."

He lifted the juice glass with his left hand and drank.

A few more bites along with the rest of the juice, and he was sweating from the effort. "Okay Neal, lets tuck you back in," she said as she removed the tray and helped him lay back down.

She took the tray and left the room.

Neal lay in the darkness for several minutes, trying to remember something, anything. He finally closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

Kyra ate some food herself, sitting on the couch. She looked down and noticed the blood stains on the cream colored couch. With a sigh, she went to get something to clean it up. She scrubbed until it was almost gone then stood and flipped the cushion's over.

With a sigh she went to the hall closet and pulled out an extra blanket and pillow before settling back onto the couch. Reaching for the small alarm clock next to her, she set it to give her four hours sleep, then it would be time to wake him up and give him some more antibiotics.

Over the next three days they followed much the same pattern. Kyra would wake him every few hours to feed him and give him antibiotics. After the first time he woke up with a fever, she convinced him to at least take some Tylenol. It helped ease the pain, if only minimally. She slept on the couch at night and wandered the house during the day, afraid to leave him alone. She took care of his every need, even helping him to the bathroom when the need arose. She knew at some point she would have to go into town to get supplies, but she didn't feel comfortable leaving him until he was at least a little bit better.


	2. Chapter 2

I'd like to take this opportunity to erase the oversight I made posting the first chapter: A huge thanks to my beta reader, Lady Black Malfoy! Girl you rock! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone!

Chapter 2

It was early; he could tell by the dim light filtering into the room that the sun hadn't fully risen yet. He ran a hand through his hair and realized that instead of the intense shooting pain he'd previously experienced, the sensation had subsided to a throbbing, burning ache. He then ran his hand along his jaw and the stubble scratched against his skin. _'Need to shave.' _He thought to himself.

He sat up gingerly, surprised that he felt much better. Throwing back the covers he swung both legs over the edge of the bed. He stood slowly, and was overcome with a wave of dizziness as his body adjusted to the action. He reached out, and steadied himself with a hand against the wall. The sensation passed and he looked around the room, noting the bathroom door was open.

He made his way to the door and stepped inside. The muted hues of cream, tan and chocolate covered the space, it was not what he would have expected from a single woman.

The granite tile under his feet was cold as he made his way to the sink. He looked into the mirror and the face that stared back at him was as unfamiliar as his surroundings. "Who are you?" he asked the man staring back at him.

"You're up."

He heard Kyra's voice behind him and met her eyes in the mirror. "Yeah, I feel a lot better."

"I'm glad to hear that. Do you think you'd be okay on your own for a couple of hours? I need to go into town and get some supplies. We need food and you need clothes. I'm afraid the ones you were wearing are ruined." As much as she was enjoying the sight of him standing in her bathroom, in nothing but his underwear, he couldn't run around like that all the time.

"Yeah, I think I can handle that. I'd like to shower and shave. A toothbrush wouldn't hurt if you have an extra one."

"A shower might be a bit ambitious, but you can take a bath." She entered the room, coming to a stop behind him. Then she reached around him and opened the mirrored cabinet door. "Fresh razor and toothbrush," she said reaching for the items as her arm brushed against his shoulder.

Neal felt the now familiar arc of electricity he experienced every time she touched him, and closed his eyes, swallowing the groan that rumbled in his throat. Now wasn't the time to explore the physical attraction he felt toward the pretty redhead.

She stepped back, clearing her throat. "I'll start you some water." She went over to the tub and sat on the edge, reaching for the taps. "I have a robe you can borrow until I can get you some clothes," she said not looking at him.

"Thanks Kyra," he murmured as he watched her.

"Let me get you the robe."

He watched her go, then with a sigh he turned back to his reflection. His eyes went to the small neat stitches on his chest. "Nice work," he said to himself.

"Here you go." She hung the white terry robe on a peg. "The towels and washcloths are in the cabinet there." She indicated a slim carved cabinet between the sink and the tub. "Shampoo and soap on the shelf in the tub. I'll make us some breakfast while you get cleaned up. Do you want to try and eat at the table?"

"That would be great, thank you Kyra...for everything," he said sincerely.

Her eyes searched his face before she nodded. "What else could I do?"

A lot of things, he knew. She could have called the cops, an ambulance...or simply turned away from him. But she hadn't done any of those things. She'd taken him in and taken care of him, and for that he'd be eternally grateful.

He shed the boxers and stepped into the warm water, sinking gratefully into the deep tub. He closed his eyes and let the hot water ease the aches and tension from his muscles.

Kyra bustled around the kitchen, making a mental list of the things she needed to get in town. She knew that the American woman, as the locals called her, buying men's clothes and necessities would cause talk, but there was no help for it. She didn't have time to hire a car and drive to a neighboring town; she didn't want to leave Neal alone that long.

Neal leaned in the doorway watching Kyra, his hair wet and tousled, and face freshly shaven. He wore nothing but the white robe, and he couldn't help but wonder why she had done all she had for him.

"Is that coffee I smell?" he asked, making his presence known.

She looked up and swallowed hard at the picture he made. She wished she had her camera handy. "Yes, would you like some?"

"More than anything at this moment," he answered, moving into the wide open space that housed not only the kitchen, but the dining area and the living room also. He looked around at the tastefully decorated area, his eyes coming to rest on a painting opposite the small dining table. "Monet."

She finished pouring the coffee. "Sit Neal. Yes, Monet is my favorite. It's only a reproduction. You'll find several reproductions around here. I love art."

He pulled out one of the chairs and sat as she placed the cup in front of him. "Cream? Sugar?"

"No, this is fine. Something else smells great too."

She smiled. "Fresh brioche. We have fruit too. Grapes and peaches," she said as she went back to the counter to cut the bread into slices. She filled two small plates with bread and fruit before going back to the table, she sat one in front of Neal before taking her own seat.

"You look like you are feeling better," she said, sipping her coffee. She noted the bruises on his face had faded so that they were hardly noticeable. Most of the abrasions and scrapes had healed, and only a couple of the deeper cuts remained visible on the handsome features.

"I do feel better. The pain is much better, and I can actually use this arm," he said, demonstrating by picking up a piece of the bread with his right hand.

She watched as he bit into it and smiled. "Delicious."

"Thanks. So, the shops don't open till nine," she said, picking up the pen on the table. "I'll leave after breakfast and walk down to the village. I should be back by eleven." She started transferring her mental list to the paper. "I need to get some idea of what sizes you wear. I can't say that I've ever bought clothes for a man before, except for the occasional tie for my father," she told him as she wrote.

The desired information rolled off his tongue before he even realized it, leaving her looking at him in stunned silence. He shrugged- it surprised him as much as it did her. She jotted the information at the bottom of the list and returned to her meal.

"Maybe it's a good sign. Your memory will probably return in stages. If it was going to be a flood, it would most likely have already happened," she told him.

"And you know this how?" he asked.

"I'm a nurse, or I was. My father was a doctor," she explained.

"Wow, lucky me."

She laughed. "Yeah."

"So, where are you from Kyra?"

"New York. Manhattan to be exact."

"So what brought you to Italy?"

"My dad died..." she trailed off as she felt the tears well up in her eyes.

Neal reached out and covered her hand with his own. "I'm sorry Kyra."

She was surprised by the comfort she felt at his touch. She looked up at him and he could see the tears in her eyes. "He wanted me to explore myself, to find out what I really wanted to do with my life...I hated being a nurse and he knew it."

"Have you figured it out?"

"Not yet. I thought I'd try art but..."

"But what?"

"I'm horrible at it," she said with a soft chuckle. "Definitely not my talent."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," he said, and pulled his hand away from hers. They both felt the disconnection acutely.

She stood and took the empty plates to the sink. She refilled his coffee. "I should get going. It's a three mile walk to the village. Make yourself at home here Neal."

"Be careful Kyra," he said quietly, and watched her walk to the door. He sat staring at it long after it had closed behind her.

Finally he pushed himself to his feet, going to pour another cup of coffee before wandering around the house. He studied the paintings on the walls, noting reproductions by several famous artists. He wondered exactly how he knew exactly what the titles were as well as who the artist was. It just came to him, with no effort. He also noted a couple of sculptures that sat in the living room that were familiar. Then he walked to the bookshelves that flanked the open fireplace and perused the titles, again wondering why it was that many of them were familiar to him. He pulled a slim volume down and settled on the couch with it.

The familiarity washed over him as he read Poe's words.

Once in town Kyra went about her tasks as quickly as she could. By the time she was finished, she wished she had hired the car after all. She trudged home, weighted down by the bags.

Entering the villa she sat the bags down immediately inside the door and looked around. Spying Neal lying on the couch she smiled, his eyes were closed and a book lay open across his chest. She walked over and pulled the blanket she had used the night before to cover him before going to unload the groceries.

Once that task was accomplished, she decided to run the new clothing through the washer and dryer. On her way to the laundry room she picked up a few of her own things that needed to be laundered.

Kyra was standing in the laundry room folding the t-shirts she had purchased for Neal when she heard him moving around. "Back here Neal!" she called, to let him know that she was back.

He appeared in the doorway, leaning against the door jam as he watched her.

"I just got you casual clothes- t-shirts, jeans. There are couple of button down's over there." She indicated the spot where she'd hung the shirts and jeans. "I'll clear out a drawer for the rest as soon as I finish this."

"Let me help you." He moved to stand next to her and reached for a shirt.

They finished the task and carried the clothes to her room. He sat on the bed after hanging the clothes up in the closet and watched as she pulled things out of one of the drawers in the dresser. He caught sight of bits of lace and satin and groaned inwardly as she pushed her under things into another drawer.

"Really Kyra, I can't thank you enough for everything you are doing for me."

She turned and reached for the socks and underwear next to her. "It's not that big of a deal, really. Any decent human being would do the same."

"Not everyone is that decent," he muttered.

She finished putting the clothes away and stood. "I suppose that is true enough. Why don't you get dressed, and I'll go make us some lunch."

He nodded and waited until she exited the room, closing the door softly behind her. Standing he untied the robe and let it fall onto the bed as he stretched. His chest and shoulder were still extremely sore but he definitely felt better. He walked over to the dresser and pulled out clothes, then to the closet for a pair of jeans and a shirt.

She busied herself in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for a salad and preparing meat and cheese for sandwiches.

When Neal appeared, it was all she could do not to stare at him. He'd pulled on a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans, not bothering with shoes or socks. The dark slate blue shirt hung open and accentuated his impossibly blue eyes to perfection.

"Can I help?" he asked moving into the kitchen.

"Make coffee?" she suggested. "The rest is almost done."

They finished the tasks in silence and were soon seated at the table ready to eat. "I see you were reading Poe," she observed as she picked up her sandwich.

"Yeah, it was odd."

"Not everyone gets Edgar Allan," she said laughing.

"It's not that. As I read it I knew that I had read it before. No memory of when or where, but the words were so familiar I just knew that it was something I'd encountered before. It's been an ongoing theme for me this morning."

Kyra cocked her head. "How so?"

"I wandered around the house after you left and I can tell you that you have reproductions of paintings by Monet, Rembrandt and Renoir. There is another Monet in your bedroom as well as a replica of Rodin's _The Kiss._" He paused, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I can't tell you how I know- I just do." He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I can tell you the who and what of every reproduction you have here."

She reached across the table, her hand covering his. "It will come back to you," she reassured him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Peter alternately paced his office and stared out the window, wondering what else he could do. It had been four days since Neal had disappeared, and he was no closer to figuring out where the hell he was. He refused to believe that Neal had ran, his only reason for running was gone. This was more, he just couldn't figure out what was going on. A knock on the door startled him, and he turned to find Diana standing at the door.

"Interpol got a hit on the Aaron Stevenson alias." The look on her face told him it wasn't good. "Found his wallet along with several small caliber shell casings in an alley in Verona."

Peter nearly choked on his coffee. "Verona? Italy?"

Diana nodded and handed Peter the file. "You better sit down."

Peter did as she suggested, and took a deep breath as he opened the folder. The crime scene photos were on top; he saw the markers for five different shell casings among the red streaks on the pavement.

"They found four of those bullets embedded in the buildings," Diana continued.

His eyes flicked up to Diana's face. "Did they find a body?"

Diana shook her head. "No, they didn't."

"How in the hell did he end up in Italy?"

Diana shrugged. "No idea boss." She paused, then asked, "Are we going to Italy?"

Peter nodded solemnly. "If I can get clearance."

By the end of the week, Neal had made significant improvement. The wounds were healing nicely, and he was feeling stronger every day. He knew that it was directly attributable to the care Kyra had given him, and for that he was grateful. As he stood in the doorway leading out to the patio, he said a prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening.

Now, he just had to get his memory back. He'd begun having flashes, like scenes from a movie but none of them meant anything to him. Mostly places, and things he was sure should be familiar to him but weren't. There were other things also, that really meant nothing to him but for some reason made him uncomfortable.

He stepped out the door and the unfinished canvas sitting abandoned on the easel caught his eye so he walked over to it. Studying it, he realized that she was right, it was bad. A smile played at his lips as he picked up the palette and began selecting paints. Finally he picked up the brush. and the delicate brushstrokes seemed as natural to him as breathing. Soon he was completely lost in replicating the landscape in front of him.

Kyra stood in the living room, watching him out the window. The intensity on his face was mesmerizing as he effortlessly transformed her pitiful attempt into something of absolute beauty. The white button down shirt hung open, revealing flashes of his caramel colored skin, broken only by the denim of the jeans he'd pulled on.

She turned and went to retrieve her camera. Soundlessly, she stepped out the door and began shooting. The breeze blew his chestnut locks around while he was seemingly unaware of her presence. The final frame captured not only the painting, but the artist as well. His eyes slid towards her, a smile of pure satisfaction on his handsome features as the shutter closed.

"I hope you don't mind," he said as she lowered the camera.

"Not at all. It's beautiful Neal. I hope you don't mind." She indicated the camera in her hand.

"No, it's fine," he said softly as she moved to stand next to him, gazing at the painting.

"It really is beautiful." An idea dawned on her. "You know, I have all kinds of art supplies in the loft. Feel free to help yourself. Maybe it will help."

"But what about you?" he asked.

"I feel more comfortable with this," She said lifting the camera. "As a matter of fact, I'm going to download these to the laptop right now. Why don't you go up and check out the supplies?"

"You have a computer?"

"Just my laptop. I store my photo's on it. No internet connection out here."

"Oh."

She reached for his arm. "I'm sorry Neal. Maybe I should go into town, do some digging. You could stay here just to be safe."

He shook his head. "No, I don't think I'm ready yet." He was afraid of what she might find given some of the flashes he'd had.

"Okay, well if you change your mind just let me know," she murmured before turning to go inside.

Neal prowled around the loft, surprised to find just about every art medium one could want in front of him. He finally picked up a sketchbook and some charcoal pencils, and then made his way back down the staircase.

He found Kyra sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her. The image she had pulled up was the final one she had taken of him that morning. "That is stunning Kyra," he observed as he peered over her shoulder.

She looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face. "It helps to have a stunning subject, I doubt a bad photo of you exists."

It was his turn to blush. "Thanks," he said humbly. "I found these, do you mind?"

She shook her head. "Help yourself to whatever catches your fancy."

"Anything?" he murmured, his free hand settling on her shoulder.

She sat frozen under his touch, the skin tingling where his fingers made contact. The roughness of his voice spoke to the sexual tension that practically sizzled between them. "Almost anything," she finally managed.

He let his hand drop and he stepped away from her, quietly moving to the couch to sketch.

Once she'd finished with the photos she went to make a late breakfast for the two of them.

As she worked her eyes slid to where Neal sat on the couch, diligently sketching, smiling as she watched him chew on his lip as he worked.

The private jet touched down on the runway, the terminal of the Verona-Villafranca Airport looming in the distance. Peter Burke ran a hand through his hair tiredly. It had taken him three days to get through the red tape and gain approval for the team to travel to Italy to search for Neal. The transatlantic flight had taken over eight hours, and with the time difference it was nearing midnight in Italy. He glanced over to see Diana stretch and swat Jones on the arm to wake him up. They'd check into the hotel and get a good night's sleep, then early in the morning they'd start searching for Neal after checking in with the Italian Police.

The day had passed pleasantly enough. Neal had been buried in the sketchbook virtually all day, only stopping to eat lunch and dinner. Kyra had picked up the forgotten volume and tried, unsuccessfully, to lose herself in Poe's work. Every so often she stood and prowled around the house, quietly refilling their coffee cups as needed before trying to settle back down with the book. She'd finally given up and tossed the book aside in favor of just watching Neal, so engrossed in his work that he'd barely even noticed she was sitting there simply staring at him.

He glanced up and their gazes met, a smile spreading across the handsome face. He sat the sketchbook and pencil aside and rolled his shoulders, wincing as he did. Their eyes met again, a crooked little grin on his face and she felt herself weaken. Damn him for being so sexy.

"Sore?" she asked quietly.

He reached up to rub his shoulder "Yeah, think I overdid it a bit."

She motioned for him to join her on the couch. "Come over here, I'll rub it for you."

He stood; long, elegant fingers already reaching for the buttons on the sleeve of his shirt. Kyra watched, fascinated, as he removed the white material. Glorious caramel skin covered the planes and angles of his muscular torso, and her breath stuttered in her chest.

She'd never been treated to the likes of a man like him before. Her experiences were with more...subtle men. Neal without his shirt was more enticing, more overwhelming, than most men would have been stark naked.

Neal sat next to her, turning so that she was presented with the wide expanse of his back.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out to touch him, her fingers gliding over the warm softness of his skin.

Neal closed his eyes as a low humming started in his veins, making his body throb with a need that shocked him. He knew this wasn't the time to begin a relationship. Hell, for all he knew he was married with five kids. But as her soft hands moved across his suddenly heated skin, he ceased to care. A low moan escaped his lips as the pressure intensified, her fingers kneading the taut muscles of his shoulders and back. He lost himself in the sensation.

"Neal..."

He could feel his own heartbeat - the acceleration of his pulse - just because she'd said his name. Her voice was husky, and he wondered if she was having a similar reaction to the connection of their flesh.

He turned wordlessly to face her, and the twin pools of liquid desire stared back at him.

He reached out to touch her face, moving closer to her.

And when his mouth began its descent to hers, all she could do was close her eyes, and pray she had the willpower to say no.

Ignoring the ache in his arms to hold her, and the tightness in his throat to taste her, he veered up at the last second and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Goodnight Kyra, thank you," he whispered the words before unfolding his lanky frame from the couch.

She watched, an emotion she couldn't quite identify flooding her, as he disappeared from the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Authors note: Sorry this has been so long in coming. Have been experiencing a massive case of writers block. I know people are reading and enjoying this story as evidenced by the number of people who have either favorited this story or signed up for alerts, however, there are very few reviews. I'd love to hear what you think and we all know how vain the Neal muse is, so please feed his ego! LOL

Chapter 4

As Kyra and Neal went about their days, Peter, Diana and Jones searched for Neal. After two fruitless days of searching in Verona, showing people Neal's photo and handing out their business cards the trio decided to expand their search. They sat in their hotel room, mapping out a plan to start down the coast, village by village, town by town. Hughes had given them two weeks to find Neal before he would have to notify the Marshalls and put Neal in fugitive status once again. Peter was frustrated but undaunted. He was convinced Neal was still alive, out there somewhere and he knew that he would find him, eventually-one way or another.

For Kyra and Neal the next couple of days passed quietly. They spent most of their time sitting on the patio, Kyra would read while Neal either sketched or read. Sometimes Kyra would catch him staring off into space, seemingly lost in thought. When he'd notice her watching him he'd just shrug and go back to what he had been doing. Each evening at dusk they would take a walk down the path to the edge of the cliff. Kyra suggested, now that he was feeling stronger, that they venture down to the cove and spend some time on the beach. She knew it would do him good to get some exercise beyond their little walks. She assured him it was virtually deserted as the only access was either the path on her property, or from the water. Neal readily agreed, anxious for a change of scenery.

After breakfast the next morning they headed down to the cove. Neal stood looking out at the water. "This is beautiful."

"Yeah, I love it here," Kyra said as she spread a blanket on the soft, white sand and turned to watch Neal as he stripped off his shirt. She swallowed hard at the sight; it was something she still wasn't used to. He bent to remove his shoes and socks then walked to the water's edge.

Turning he grinned at her and held out his hand in invitation. She joined him, taking his hand as they strolled along the length of the cove and back again.

As they settled on the blanket Neal mused that he wished he could go in. Kyra took a deep breath. "No one else is here, just strip down and dive in," she suggested. "I've already seen you in your underwear. No biggie," she lied.

He cocked his head at her "You sure you don't mind?"

"Swimming will be good for you." That at least was the truth.

He stood and reached for the waistband of his jeans. "Will you join me?"

She could only nod as he let the heavy denim fall from his hips. Her mouth went dry at the sight and she had to avert her gaze, pretending to be involved with untying the sarong around her own waist.

She beat him to the water and Neal watched as she waded out till the water was to her waist, then she dove into the waves. He wasted little time in joining her. They swam for a while before moving back closer to the beach where they splashed and laughed in the surf like a couple of kids.

Finally, exhausted, they made their way back to the blanket.

Neal collapsed next to her, taking the towel she held out and drying his hair.

She had to make a conscious effort not to let her gaze wander any lower than his chest. She was only human after all.

He turned on his side facing her and draped the towel over his hips, sensing she was uncomfortable with his nearly naked state despite her earlier statement.

Kyra felt his eyes on her and she bit her lip, pushing unruly strands of red behind her ear. He made a woman all too aware of being female.

She pulled her knees up to her chest rested her chin on them, wrapping her arms around her legs. "The next time I go into town I'll pick you up some trunks," she murmured, still not looking at him.

"Thanks Kyra," he murmured turning onto his back, closing his eyes against the midday sun.

_'And some shades,' _ she added to herself.

That night Neal tossed and turned in the large bed. Punching the pillow he flipped it over to the cool side for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd gone to bed. He hadn't even managed to drift off yet. The images, fractures really, were driving him crazy. He was sure that they were memories from his life, trying to make themselves known, but nothing made any sense to him.

He sat up, pushing his hands through his hair in frustration. He decided to turn to one of the two things that seemed to settle his restlessness when it simply got to be too much to handle. Not wanting to wake Kyra, he slid out of the bed and went to retrieve the sketchbook that he'd left on the coffee table.

Padding down the hall, Neal paused in the doorway watching Kyra toss and turn on the couch. '_It's not right,' _ he thought to himself. '_She shouldn't be sleeping on the couch.' _ He moved across the room silently, coming to a stop next to her.

Perching on the edge of the couch he reached for her shoulder. "Kyra, wake up." He had to repeat himself once before she woke with a start.

Sitting halfway up she rubbed her eyes. "Neal...what? Is something wrong?" she asked sleepily.

"You need to come to bed," he said. "This is ridiculous. You shouldn't be sleeping on your own couch."

She sat the rest of the way up, scrubbing her hands across her face. "Don't be silly Neal, you need the rest. I'm not the one with a bullet hole in me, I'm fine."

"You are not fine. You aren't sleeping well and it shows. I'll take the couch."

"Absolutely not, I won't hear of it," she said, finally making eye contact.

Neal sighed in frustration. "What if we share?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew it probably wasn't the best idea given how his body came alive in close proximity to hers, but he couldn't take it back now.

"Neal...I..." she stammered.

"The bed is big enough for us both, I promise to keep my hands to myself." Even as he said it he wondered if he could keep that promise.

She wondered if she wanted him to.

When she didn't protest, he swept her into his arms, ignoring the swift stab of pain that shot through his shoulder.

She didn't fight him. Instead, she tucked her face close to his throat and held on. Neal swallowed hard, moved by some insidious emotion he couldn't name, but knew damn good and well he shouldn't be feeling.

Kyra clung to him, breathing in his scent as he walked toward the bedroom. He pushed the door open with his foot and walked over to the bed. His strong arms flexed, and she found herself lowered onto the soft bed.

For several days Neal managed to keep his word. When they crawled into bed they clung to opposite sides, so close to the edges that it would seem more of the bed was unoccupied than was taken up by their bodies. However, by the time the morning sunlight peeked over the horizon, they'd both migrated to the middle of the bed, some part of their bodies touching as if seeking out each other. Sometimes it was his foot against her calf, or she would wake to find his leg thrown carelessly across her own. Sometimes he would find that she'd snuggled up against him, her hand splayed across his back, the warmth from her fingers seeping into his very soul. Sometimes his fingers were entwined with hers, a soft smile curving the full, utterly kissable lips.

Kyra sat on the couch, trying to read. When she realized she'd read the same line half a dozen times, she tossed the book onto the table in frustration. Neal's appearance in her life had turned her world upside down. No man had ever tempted her the way that he did. A smile, a look, an innocent touch, whatever it might be, and she was a pool of liquid desire. She knew it was crazy, that she shouldn't want any man the way she wanted him. With a sigh, she stood and walked to the bedroom, knowing he would come looking for her if he woke up and she wasn't there, in bed beside him. She went to the bathroom and slipped into her nightgown, then slipped carefully under the sheets.

Sleep had barely overtaken her when she was wrenched back to consciousness by his screams. She turned to look at him: He sat upright, body rigid, tears streaming down his face as he screamed "No!" over and over.

One trembling hand reached out to him. "Neal!" she said his name as she took a hold of his shoulder. "Neal! Wake up." She shook him, gently at first then more forcefully as his head turned towards her, his eyes finally focusing on her face through the onslaught of tears. She couldn't stop herself as she pulled him to her.

He lay there, curled up on the queen size bed with his head in her lap as she stroked his face and ran her fingers through his hair, the whispered words of comfort wove themselves around him and the tears finally began to subside.

His voice wavered as he spoke, telling her about the nightmare. "I don't even know her name, but I see her face in the window before the flames engulf the plane." He pushed himself to a sitting position. "She must have meant a great deal to me. The terror and sense of loss were palpable in the dream...and I don't even know her name." He rubbed his hands across his face, trying to erase the last of the tears.

"I'm sorry Neal. I can't even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you. I don't know what to say. What to do."

"Could you...would you..." He glanced over at her unable to voice his consuming need for human contact.

He didn't have to, she could clearly read the unspoken request in his eyes. She nodded and moved closer to him, opening her arms to him.

Neal settled into her arms, his head nestled in the curve of her neck as she stroked the back of his head softly. He clung to her, breathing in her scent and soaking up the warmth of her body against his. It was a long time before he finally fell back into a blissfully dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review this story, everyone who has favorited it and put it on alert. I am humbled and amazed that even after a VERY long hiatus there are still people reading it! I am so glad you are enjoying it. I hope to have it finished in the next few months. Enjoy!

Mistress Martin

Chapter 5

It was late in the afternoon when Neal tiptoed down the hall, peeking in the bedroom door to see Kyra fast asleep. As he leaned in the doorway watching her, the confusion, the need, the restless torment swelled to a painful pressure within his chest. He knew it was wrong, but he'd ceased to care. With a sigh, he turned and went back to the kitchen.

He occupied his hands with making dinner, however the only thing to occupy his mind was the beautiful redhead. He was just lighting the candles when he heard a noise behind him. He turned to find Kyra standing there.

"Feeling better?" he asked with a smile.

Kyra couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face as she took in the scene before her. "I am. You made dinner."

He dipped his head sheepishly. "Yeah, thought I would give you a break." He moved to pull out one of the chairs for her.

She walked across the room to take her seat. "It smells heavenly."

"Chicken Fettuccine." Neal walked around the table and sat down. "I hope you like it." He waited until she took a bite, a look of sheer pleasure blossomed on her face and she went from simply beautiful to stunning.

"This is incredible, Neal."

"You are incredible," he returned and watched her blush.

She didn't know how to respond to that comment, instead she focused on her food.

Neal provided the small talk as they ate, glad when she finally seemed to be relaxing. He knew that she was afraid of whatever it was between them, however, he wasn't willing to ignore it any longer. She consumed his every thought.

After the meal was finished Neal stood and turned up the music that had been softly playing in the background. Walking around the table he held his hand out to her expectantly. "Dance with me, Ky."

She couldn't think of a single excuse not to, in truth she wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms. She took his outstretched hand and let him pull her close to his body. One hand snaked around her waist, as he kept the other entwined with hers. With their joined hands trapped between them she laid her head against his chest and swayed to the music.

When the music ended he didn't move away from her, instead he looked down at her with that mesmerizing gaze and whispered, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to break my promise to you, Kyra."

"What...What promise?" she stuttered.

"I don't think I can keep my hands to myself much longer," he murmured as she pulled away from him.

Unable to breathe, let alone form coherent thought, she turned and rushed out the sliding glass door, escaping onto the patio.

Neal watched her go, waiting only several heartbeats before following her outside.

Kyra stood on the patio, her arms wrapped around herself as she watched the sunset over the Adriatic. She didn't know what to think, what to feel.

She heard the door open and then the soft sound of Neal's bare feet on the stone. He stopped behind her and wrapped both arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Beautiful isn't it?" she murmured.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen." His breath ghosted across her ear. The huskiness in his voice told her he wasn't talking about the sunset.

She turned in his arms, looking up into those incredible crystalline orbs. "Neal, I..."

He laid a finger across her lips, quieting her. His head dipped and he brushed his lips against hers. The merest semblance of pressure, until he felt her hands splay across his chest. For a fraction of a second he thought she was going to push him away. Then her arms were slipping around his neck and she was responding to his kiss. Her face cradled in his hands, he put all he didn't know how to say into that kiss.

She felt herself sliding into the kiss, into him, before she could stop herself.

Pressed heart to heart, he could feel the change in her pulse and the moment when her body began calling to him.

Kyra felt herself falling. Deeply. Hopelessly. Headlong.

He pulled back, his eyes locked on hers. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I won't apologize for the only thing that makes me feel alive." He dropped his hands to his sides, turned and walked back inside. It was up to her now.

Kyra watched him go and wondered what she should do. She wanted him, she knew that, but she wasn't sure she wanted the heartache that she'd end up with when he went back to his real life. She turned her attention back to the spectacular sunset. It was dark, the horizon a thin, jagged ribbon of flame against an indigo sky. She sighed and sank into a chair. 

By the time she'd screwed up the courage to go inside and face him, two hours had passed. She was surprised to find the living room empty. She tiptoed down the hall and found him already in bed asleep. She took a deep breath before quietly moving to the bathroom to change into her pajama's. She moved back to the bedroom and slid carefully into the bed, trying not to wake Neal.

Lying there next to him, the memory of his kiss seared on her heart, she wondered how much longer they could fight the call of their bodies.

Neal lay in the darkness just listening to the soft rhythm of Kyra's breathing, silently thanking God for putting her in his life. He didn't want to think about what might have happened to him had he not stumbled across her. He knew for sure he'd be dead but it was more than that, over the last two weeks she had been everything to him. She'd never judged or pushed him away when he needed to talk, or even when he didn't want to talk, she had somehow known just what he needed even when he hadn't.

He turned onto his side and slid his arm around her waist. A deep sigh of contentment passed his lips as she snuggled back into his embrace, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He lay there for a long time, just enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains blowing gently in the breeze. Kyra was immediately aware of the strong arm circling her waist, the warm breath ghosting across her bare shoulder—and the hardness of Neal's erection pressed against her bottom. _'Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?' _she thought to herself. She started to slid out from under Neal's arm but he murmured against her ear.

"Don't go, Ky. Please."

She took a deep breath before speaking. "If I don't, Neal..." She left the thought unfinished but they both knew exactly what she meant.

"Would it be so terrible?" he asked before pressing his lips to the exposed skin of her shoulder.

She kidded herself that she had a choice, even as her insides turned to molten lava at the feel of his lips against her skin. A low moan escaped her throat as his hand glided up her arm to brush the fiery strands away from her neck. Her body moved instinctively, arching against him, pressing against his hardness even more firmly.

He nuzzled her neck, alternately kissing and licking the soft flesh. Deftly he maneuvered so that he was looking down at her. Long, elegant fingers reached out to touch her face, brushing her hair back.

"I know I can't make you any promises, Kyra, I can only promise you now, this moment. But I can't go on ignoring the way you make me feel. Right or wrong, I want you," he whispered.

She stared up into those crystalline orbs and felt as if she was drowning. This was one of those time her father had spoken of, a time to do what she wanted instead of what everyone else would consider appropriate and she wanted this man.

"Leap of faith, Ky."

She let her hand travel up his arm, feeling the sinewy muscles beneath her fingertips, across his shoulder until her fingers were toying with the strands of hair curling at the nape of his neck. She knew that eventually he would leave her, go back to his real life and she would be nothing more than a pleasant memory.

"Leap of faith, Neal," she whispered before drawing his head down to hers.

His lips were against hers, tasting, testing, teasing. She arched against him as his tongue slid into her mouth and he explored the sweetness. His hand slid down her side, fingers brushing against the swell of her breast, until he found the hem of her nightgown.

Neal slipped his hand underneath, caressing the soft skin he found there as he pushed the garment up, exposing her flesh to his touch.

Kyra sat partway up so that he could pull the silken material over her head, leaving her clad in only a pair of white cotton bikini panties.

Straddling her thighs he gazed down at her, eyes blazing with pent up desire. "You are so incredibly beautiful, Kyra." He whispered as his fingers trailed down her face and neck to her collarbone. Eyes still riveted to her face he palmed one breast, the pebble hard nipple prominent in his hand. A groan erupted from his lips seconds before taking its twin in his mouth, laving his tongue against the turgid peak.

Kyra's hand fisted in his hair as she bit back the moan that bubbled in her own throat. He worshiped her body the way that she imagined the ancient Greeks must have worshiped at the temple of Aphrodite. As he explored the curves and valleys of her body, there was no hesitancy in his touch. He seemed to know instinctively how to illicit the moans and whimpers that spilled from her lips, and when she hissed his name into the night he discovered that she was hot and wet, ready for him. He drug the damp cotton down her thighs, throwing them over his shoulder as he knelt between her legs and reveled in the beauty before him.

Kyra's eyes roamed over his face, mesmerized by the look of pure desire in his eyes.

She sat up, hands reaching for the waistband of the pajama pants. Even in the dim light she could clearly see the outline of his erection straining against the material. It amazed her to think that he could want her as much as she wanted him. Her tongue danced across his chest and abdomen as her hands pushed the material down the slim hips allowing his hardness to spring free.

Neal managed to rid himself of the pants in mere seconds as he felt her hands settle on the swell of his ass. Then he was pushing her back down, gently but with an urgency that told her he was going wild inside just as she was. Then he was raining kisses over her face as he pushed inside her. When he was fully embedded he stilled for a moment and with the first thrust the world went away in flash of blinding fire.

Kyra lay in Neal's arms, her cheek resting against his chest as he stroked her back gently. He was exactly where she needed him and there wasn't enough heartache in the world to make her want him to stop.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

They spent the days lounging around the house, sitting on the patio or going down to the deserted cove at the foot of the cliffs by her villa. One day they took a picnic basket and ate in one of the fields just down from the villa. She'd take photographs and Neal would sketch. He'd sketched her repeatedly, in just about every pose he could think of. They talked and laughed, avoiding the subject of his memory loss and what would happen when it returned. She simply wasn't ready to face her life without him. She knew somewhere deep in her heart that day would come, but for now he was hers. She would face that day when it came.

Kyra lay next to Neal, her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and sighed contentedly. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You know I feel guilty sometimes." He murmured as his arms tightened around her.

"Why is that?"

"I know that there must be people out there somewhere who care about me, who miss me. Who wait and wonder and worry, but then you smile at me, or touch me and I just don't care. All I want is to stay right here with you forever."

Kyra's heart tightened at his words and she had to blink back the tears. She knew that it couldn't be that way but how she wished it could. For them there was no past, no future, only now.

It had been a full week since Peter had left Verona. The three of them had decided the best thing to do was to split up and cover as much ground as possible. Diana had taken the Tyrrhenian coast, Jones the middle and Peter had been making his way doggedly down the Adriatic coast. His confidence was waning, but not his determination. He stood on the balcony of his hotel in Bari, looking out over the Adriatic and prayed that he wouldn't be accompanying a government issue pine box back across the Atlantic.

Kyra perused the vegetable's on display at the grocer. Tourists milled around her but all she could think of was completing her purchases and getting back to Neal. She felt someone tap her on the shoulder and turned to look.

"Scusi." The man was tall, wearing a Brooks Brothers suit and tie and spoke with an American Accent.

"Yes?" she replied.

"You're American?" he said with relief.

"I am. Can I help you with something."

"Special Agent Peter Burke with the FBI. I'm looking for this man." He held out a photograph, his badge also in his hand.

Kyra took it and looked down, recognition hit her like a wave and she flicked her eyes up to the man's face. She schooled her features, praying the recognition didn't show on her face, she had no idea what the man standing in front of her wanted with Neal.

"I'm sorry." She held the photo out to him.

Peter cocked his head, he'd seen the brief flash of recognition in her eyes and knew she was lying. "This is Neal Caffery, he's an international art thief, master forger and con man," he said hoping to scare her into telling him what she knew, and she knew something, he was certain of it.

"I'm sorry Agent Burke, I've never seen this man before." She tucked her arms around herself, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"You're sure?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"I'm sure. I think I'd remember someone that incredibly handsome."

He searched her face for any clue as to what side of all this she was on. He could read the tension and fear easily, but the motivation for those emotions eluded him.

Kyra turned and walked away. Tears pricked her eyes as the pain pierced her heart. She couldn't reconcile the Neal she knew with the one Peter Burke had just described to her. There had to be more.

"Excuse me! Miss!" She heard Agent Burke call to her, she blinked back the tears and turned to face the man who had come to take away the one thing she didn't want to live without.

Peter trotted over to her. "Miss..."

Kyra took a deep breath. "Montgomery, Kyra Montgomery."

Peter could almost hear Neal's voice _'Leap of faith, Peter, leap of faith.' _He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Miss Montgomery, you're lying to me. I know it and you know it. You know something and I need to know what it is," He paused then continued. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee and tell you my story. If at the end you still want to claim you know nothing, I'll leave you alone." He watched the indecision play across her face. "Leap of faith, Miss Montgomery."

Her heart froze in her chest as she heard Neal's words tumble from this man's lips. She motioned to a small cafe just ahead. "Shall we?"

He nodded and followed her over to one of the tables set up on the sidewalk. The waitress greeted them immediately. " Due caffè si prega," she said in perfect textbook Italian.

Neither of them said anything, just sat studying one another until the waitress returned with the cups and a pot.

"Grazie." Kyra murmured before picking up her cup. "So, Agent Burke, what makes you think I know anything about your fugitive?"

Peter sat his own cup down. Neal's cover was obviously already blown and maybe the truth would convince her to open up. "He's not exactly a fugitive."

One scarlet eyebrow rose. "Oh? So he's not an art thief, master forger and con man?"

Peter chuckled. "Neal Caffrey is all of those things and more. He is one of the most brilliant criminals I've ever pursued, he's also my partner and my friend." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to reveal a photo of Neal and himself alongside Elizabeth.

She looked down at the photo and felt the bile rise in her throat. She reached for her coffee and Peter could see her fingers trembling.

"It all started about ten years ago, with some forged bonds and a green sucker. You know the kind you get at the bank?" He paused to take a drink of his coffee before continuing. He told her everything he knew about Neal. About the man he had been as well as the man he had become. He told her about all the people in Neal's life, everyone—himself, El, June, Mozzie, Alex, Sara and even Kate.

Kyra's heart ached for Neal as Peter talked about Kate, remembering the anguish his nightmare had brought him, but she kept listening—and watching. She watched each and every genuine emotion unfold across Peter's face. He finished by saying "There are a lot of people back home who love Neal, miss him and all any of them want is for him to come home to us." Peter finished the coffee in his cup even though it had grown cold. "So, Miss Montgomery, do you know anything that can help me find him?" He waited, praying silently that she would tell him what she knew.

She knew it was time. "I think, Agent Burke, that you should give me a ride home." She stood and looked at Peter expectantly. "Leave your translator here."

Peter looked up at her, he was a bit wary but at this point he'd do anything to find Neal. He walked over to the man and spoke with him. It took only a few moments for him to return , keys in hand. "Shall we?"

Kyra followed him to the small black Audi parked at the curb. He opened the door for her before going around to climb behind the wheel.

She gave him directions to the main road and once they were on it she began her story. "I want you to know, Agent Burke, that I am trusting you. I hope for all of our sakes that you are telling the truth." She took several deep breaths then continued. "Neal stumbled onto my property just over a month ago. He'd been shot, beaten and was bleeding to death."

She saw Peter's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "Is he..." He couldn't finish the question.

"He's alive. He also sustained a head injury and is suffering from amnesia." She watched the relief flood across Peter's face.

"Thank God he's okay."

"So, anyway, I patched him up, took care of him until he regained his strength. Seeing as he had nothing and no one, with no idea who had tried to kill him we decided it was safest for him to remain at my villa. He's been having some flashback memories but the pieces just aren't falling into place. Maybe seeing you will help." She prayed she was doing the right thing, for Neal at least. She'd known all along that when he was better, when he'd regained his memory that she would lose him.

Peter glanced over at her but she was looking out the window and he couldn't see her face. "You must have been scared. A strange man with a gunshot wound shows up on your doorstep..."

"At times I was, at least at first but..." She turned to look at Peter.

"But he's Neal, and even without his memory he can charm the stars from the sky," Peter murmured.

"Yeah, that he can. I kept telling myself that a dangerous criminal wouldn't wear Armani, paint like Monet, quote Shakespeare or read The Tell Tale Heart."

"I never said he was dangerous. At least not physically. Neal would never hurt anyone unless it was in self defense and even then I wonder."

Neal sat on the couch, a book balanced on his knee, staring off into space. His mind raced as it tried to put some of the pieces of his life together. The flashes of memory were driving him crazy.

He heard gravel crunch under car tires and was instantly on alert. In the month he'd been with Kyra he'd never heard a car in the driveway. He moved across the room to the hall, pressed against the wall he listened to the key slide into the lock and turn. As the door opened he heard Kyra's voice. "Let me go find him for you."

"Thank you, Miss Montgomery." A voice returned. It was a familiar sound, Neal's heart raced.

"Neal?" He heard her call to him.

He took a deep breath and stepped back into the room.

She saw him and forced a smile on her face. "Neal this is Peter Burke, he knows you."

"Neal! Thank God you're alive!" Peter closed the distance between the two of them and embraced Neal. "I was afraid I'd never see you alive again."

Neal stood stiffly in Peter's embrace. While the other man was familiar it was in the same way that everything else had been. That sense of knowing and yet not knowing why or how. This however was the first person to evoke it. Neal took a step back, bumping into Kyra as he did. "Sorry, Ky." He reached out to steady her, catching her by the elbow.

"I'm going to make us some coffee, it's going to be a long night. Peter, Neal have a seat."

Neal sat on the couch in his usual spot and Peter took the oversize chair across from him. "So," Neal began "who am I?"

"Neal Caffrey." Peter murmured. It was an unsettling sensation to know that the person he considered his best friend, save Elizabeth didn't know who he was. "But I'm confused, if you didn't know who you were...Miss Montgomery called you Neal."

Kyra walked back into the room. "The first night he was here we found a note in his pocket. It said 'Neal call El.' That was how I knew you were telling the truth back in the village. We assumed his name was Neal," she said perching on the end of the couch. "Tell him the story you told me, maybe it will start triggering his memory."

Peter nodded and turned to Neal to begin the tale. After a few minutes she returned to the kitchen to get the coffee and brought each of them a cup. She sat on the far end of the couch and even as absorbed in Peter's tale as he was he'd noticed that since she'd returned she hadn't touched him or spoken an endearment, in fact he felt as if she were pulling away, slowly and silently. That scared him more than anything else had.

He tried his best to ignore it, stopping Peter every so often to ask questions and it finally began to dawn on him who Neal Caffrey really was. Neal listened to Peter and felt his world crumbling around him, those flashes of memory finally beginning to make some sense to him. It was small wonder that Kyra was shutting down around him. He wasn't the kind of man that women like her shared their beds with, let alone their lives.

Peter had been there for a couple of hours when Kyra excused herself, pleading a headache and going to take a nap. Neal reached for her hand but she kept just out of reach and she might well have slapped him for the sting he felt in his heart.

Kyra shut the bedroom door softly behind her and the tears began to fall. She walked over to the bed, her surroundings a blur. Crawling onto the bed, she wrapped herself in sheets that smelled of him and told herself that him leaving would not kill her. And for a few seconds, she actually believed it. As she curled into a ball she drew the pillow into her arms to muffle her sobs. She cried until she had no tears left.

Peter and Neal both watched Kyra walk out of the room then Peter turned back to Neal. "She's in love with you."

Neal sighed, fingers combing his hair back. "She's in love with who she thought I was...obviously I am not the man she fell in love with."

"And you're in love with her aren't you?"

"How can I be in love with someone when I don't even know who I am?" he whispered looking down at his feet.

Peter didn't have an answer for that. "I'll wait outside, give you a few minutes to get your things together and say goodbye."

Neal nodded and Peter walked out the door. His phone was in his hand before he made it the few feet to the car. He listened to the ringing and imagined that Elizabeth was at home in bed. He heard her sleepy voice answer. "El! Great news!"

Elizabeth sat up in bed "You found him, he's alive!"

"Yep, thank God!" Peter exclaimed as he slid into the car.

"So what happened? Tell me everything."

He told her the whole story as he waited for Neal to appear, his eyes on the house. She hung up after promising to call June and Mozzie. He would talk to Jones and Diana as well as Hughes as soon as he got off the phone with her.

Neal sat unmoving on the couch trying to process the things Peter had told him. More bits and pieces began to shift into place and he was relieved that it was starting to come back. Finally he pushed himself to his feet, dreading telling Kyra he had to go.

He opened the door to the bedroom, seeing her lying on the bed his pillow clutched in her arms, the sheets still rumpled and twisted from their earlier lovemaking. Then he spotted the black and red duffel bag sitting on the floor next to the bed. His eyes burned and he had to swallow the hard ache that rose in his throat. Tears stung his eyes and were viciously willed away. He walked across the room and picked up the bag. Silently he said goodbye to her.

As he walked to the front door he spotted her laptop sitting on the table along with several thumb drives. He took the time to slip one of the drives into the USB port, fingers flying across the keyboard. Once he was finished he waited while the computer copied the files, watching the screen as pictures of his time with her slid across the screen. He lay the sketchbook next to the computer, flipped open to a sketch of the two of them in Rodin's "The Kiss" pose. A few minutes later he slipped the thumb drive into the pocket of his jeans and walked out the front door to where Peter was waiting for him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Neal didn't say a word the entire flight. Just before the plane touched down, Jones approached Neal, the tracking anklet in his grasp. "Sorry, Neal."

Neal just shrugged and stuck out his foot. During the drive, Peter had explained the terms of his probation and he was expecting it.

Over the next few weeks, Neal's long term memory returned in starts and fits. Something would trigger a memory and he would be flooded with them, then they would stop. Until the next time something triggered the flood. His short term memory of the events leading up to the incident would probably never return according to the Bureau doctor they'd sent him too.

Kyra spent the first two weeks of Neal's absence wandering through the villa, tears never far from her eyes. Everywhere she looked she saw Neal, could feel his presence no matter where she was. She slept very little and ate even less. Finally she packed her bags and flew back to New York. She simply couldn't take the memories anymore.

Unfortunately being back in New York didn't help at all. He was too deeply embedded in her mind, in her heart. She avoided friends feigning illness until Alistair McDonald refused to take no for an answer. Alistair took one look at her and threatened to bodily haul her to the doctor if she didn't go willingly. She acquiesced after that particular rant. What that doctor had to tell her changed her life forever. She was forced to begin taking care of herself, making plans and looking for a way to make a life for herself—one without Neal.

Neal sat staring out at the spectacular view of the New York skyline from June's rooftop. He felt unsettled. As much as he loved New York, he longed to be back on the Italian coast—back in Kyra's arms. He lifted the glass of wine and drank deeply, as the snowflakes began to descend.

Even now, all these weeks later he couldn't fall asleep without picturing her beautiful face. Not a day went by that he didn't miss the sound of her voice, her laugh. Not a night went by that he didn't imagine her lying next to him, when he closed his eyes he could pretend that she was there, in his life still loving him the way she had on that peaceful Italian coast.

He sat the glass down and picked up the framed picture of the two of them. He remembered the day it was taken, the day after they had become lovers and the happiness radiated on both of their faces.

Elizabeth sat at the kitchen table, working out a menu for her next event which was almost a month away. She glanced up as Peter slid into the chair next to her. Her phone rang and she picked it up. "Burke Premiere Events."

"Elizabeth! Thank goodness I reached you. I am so sorry to call you on a Sunday. This is Alistair McDonald. I need a huge favor!"

Elizabeth smiled to herself. She'd met Alistair at an event she'd done just the past week and he had promised to call her for his next gallery showing. "Mr. McDonald. What can I do for you?"

"I have showing next weekend and the planner I had booked for it previously just up and eloped to Tahiti!"

"Oh, my. That is terrible!" Elizabeth exclaimed causing Peter to turn and look at her.

"I know this is incredibly short notice but is there any possibility that you could throw something together for me?"

"Friday or Saturday?" Elizabeth asked flipping her planner to an empty page.

"Saturday. It's going to be pretty casual. The artist is a photographer friend of mine and she wouldn't want anything to ostentatious. Simple appetizers and wine would be great. I'm expecting about a hundred people to show up."

"I think I can manage that, Mr. McDonald. Why don't we meet at the gallery sometime tomorrow? I'll bring a sample menu and some prices and we will see what we can do."

"That would be perfect, Elizabeth. We will be at the gallery all day installing the pieces so anytime you are free will be just fine."

"How about one?" Elizabeth's pencil hovered over the time slot in her planner.

"That would be great! Thank you so much. You are a lifesaver!"

"I'll see you tomorrow at one."

When Elizabeth hung up the phone she grinned over at Peter. "New client?" Peter asked returning the smile.

"Yep, Alistair McDonald of The McDonald Gallery on High street."

"That's great El. I was wondering if you mind if Neal comes over for dinner tonight?"

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm just worried about him." Peter said running a hand through his hair.

Elizabeth reached out and squeezed his hand. "I know. I've never seen Neal so...withdrawn. Even after Kate died if he was hurting, you wouldn't have known it, but now..." She trailed off looking over at her husband.

Peter propped his chin on his fist. "I know hon, I wish I knew what to do to help him...At least when Kate died, he knew she wasn't ever coming back, that she was gone. This time...I think it's eating him alive to know Kyra is out there somewhere, living her life without him."

"Do you think she really loved him?"

Peter shrugged "I don't know, it's not like she knew the real Neal Caffrey."

"Do any of us?" Elizabeth quipped.

"I suppose not, but falling for a man with a past like Neal's..." Peter sighed again.

"But he's not that man anymore." she protested.

"I know that and you know that, El, but Kyra doesn't."

"Well maybe she should get to know him now." Elizabeth huffed in frustration.

Later that night, Peter sat across from Neal, sipping his coffee as Neal stared forlornly into his own cup, clutched in both hands. "If something is on your mind Neal, you should just say it."

Neal sat the cup down and looked up at Peter. "You remember you told me once that I could be a con or a man but I couldn't be both?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah."

Neal drug a hand through his hair tiredly. "I lost Kate because of what I did. I lost Kyra because of what I am. I'm tired of losing the women I love...it's time to be a man. I want what you have. A job I love, a woman I love and who loves me, a home, a family."

Peter cocked an eyebrow. "If there is one thing I know about Neal Caffery, it's that he can have whatever his heart desires."

"Maybe not this time, not all of it anyway. But I am ready to try." Neal murmured.

Kyra sat at the table, Peter's card in one hand her cell phone in the other. It had been a month since she'd returned to the states, six weeks since she'd last seen Neal. She'd picked up the phone a thousand times only to chicken out before hitting the send button. She missed him more than she would have ever imagined missing anyone.

The cab pulled up in front of the McDonald Gallery just a few minutes before one. Elizabeth exited the cab and stepped onto the sidewalk. Reaching up to smooth down her hair she walked to the frosted glass double doors. She stepped inside to find workers busy hanging photographs on the walls. Her eyes cast around the space looking for any sign of the auburn haired man who owned the gallery. Finally she heard his voice coming from the far end of the gallery.

"Yes, just there! That, my darling is the centerpiece of your collection!"

Elizabeth followed the sound to find Alistair with his arm around a woman. Their backs were to her and they were staring up at a large portrait. "I don't know, Allie. That one is so very personal." She could almost hear the tremor in the woman's voice.

"It's stunning my dear! Even if you don't want to sell it, it should be displayed."

Elizabeth moved closer to the duo, her eyes immediately drawn to the portrait on the wall. She was certainly stunned. Neal stood, bare chested and barefoot in front of a painting. The intensity on his face was mesmerizing and she could almost feel it radiating from the photograph. Could imagine the wind that blew the white button down open to reveal his taut abs and sculpted chest. She shook herself out of her reverie, a blush creeping up her neck. She couldn't ever remember seeing Neal quite so exposed.

She cleared her throat and the duo turned to her and Elizabeth felt a bit faint. She'd seen the picture Neal kept in his apartment often enough to recognize the woman standing no more than fifteen feet from her. Kyra Montgomery.

"Elizabeth!" Alistair greeted her enthusiastically.

She managed to regain her composure as he gestured for her to join them. "Let's get an unbiased opinion. Elizabeth, what do you think of this portrait?"

"It's breathtaking." She said honestly.

"See?" Alistair chided the redhead next to him. "It's beautiful. He is beautiful."

Kyra chewed her lip nervously. She wondered what Neal would think if he could see it displayed this way.

"Be a good girl and check out the rest of the mounts, while I talk with our lovely event coordinator." Alistair prodded the redhead. With one last glance at the portrait behind her she moved away.

Alistair came over and shook her hand warmly. "She is so nervous. This will be her first showing and I don't think she realizes the innate talent she possesses. She thinks artists must create with a brush or clay."

"Like the artist in the photo."

"Exactly."

Elizabeth knew she had to do everything she could to get this job. Neal's happiness depended on it. In the end, not only did she get the job and a set of tickets to the opening but a promise from Alistair that if it went well, he would be hiring her again and again.

Now she just had to talk Peter and Neal into attending the show. Her mind began to work overtime. She didn't want Neal to balk and she didn't want Peter to let the cat out of the bag. She finally decided a last minute cancellation from one her wait staff was the ticket to getting Neal there, Peter of course would have to accompany him as the gallery was a bit out of Neal's radius.

By the time Saturday arrived, she herself had almost blurted out what she knew on several occasions. The utter anguish she saw in Neal's eyes every time she saw him broke her heart and she prayed to God that this would work out well for both of them. She'd seen Kyra in passing a couple of times over the week and she saw the same haunted, empty look in the other woman's eyes.

About five one of her waitresses called her, as arranged, and pretended to cancel. Elizabeth ranted at the girl for a few minutes before hanging up with a deep sigh. Peter and Neal both looked at her questioningly.


End file.
